I Keep Your Secret
by Jules Ink
Summary: After nearly being killed by his mother, after his ex shooting his (then) girlfriend and with his best friend despising him, he needed a win. But is suiting up as The Hood really the way to find victory, when it seems to be the root of all his losses lately? (Set after 1.19)
1. Chapter 1

It's been a long time since I last wrote a fan fiction - and this is the first I ever posted here. But after Arrow episode 1.20 inspiration struck, and I just had to do this. I hope you like it, feedback and constructive criticism is very welcome. I do not own any of the Arrow-characters, I just borrow the for fun. Much loves, Jules.

* * *

(1)

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He needed it; he needed to feel the rush that heightened his senses and numbed his fears. He was on a mission, and he needed to focus, he needed to reduce his thinking to the necessary basics–and in a fight that mostly meant reacting. He was in need for this to go smoothy; he needed a win, because lately there had been rather many defeats. Most of which had nothing to do with fighting, but still he felt like he had been counting his losses too often lately.

Stretching his neck, tilting his head to one side first and then to the other and it was as if with this gesture he shed his skin and put on another. Oliver Queen turned into The Hood and without hesitating any more, he started running and with one fluent motion he jumped over the stone wall surrounding the luxurious mansion. His feet hardly made a sound as he landed on the perfectly kept grass. He crunched down, one hand on the green that was wetted by the sprinkler, which was positioned nearby and spraying water with a steady clicking-sound. His eyes scanned the garden that actually deserved to be called a park. He had memorized the layout and the exact positions of the cameras. They had been placed perfectly, overlooking the whole grounds–until Felicity had changed their angles. She had made way for him–and now he was on his way.

He kept his head down as he dashed toward the house and swiftly, easily, climbed up the tree that stood closest to the house. A jump later he was on the balcony of the first floor. He had just picked the lock and was about to gain entry to the house, when suddenly the room that had lain in complete darkness was ablaze with light. Within the wink of an eye, his back was pressed flat to the wall. He stood next to the glass door with his bow held to his chest.

A voice was dimly audibly through the crack the door had already opened. "...enough.", a man said now, "Frank's dead, and he was in it from the beginning." Silence followed, then, "Oh, come on! We all know who's responsible! … NO! Not, HIM. I'm sure, it was her. All her! They are both equally evil."

The Hood dared to tilt his head till he could see into the room. It was dominated by a huge wooden desk. A man was standing in front of it, facing the wall and the huge oil painting that was hanging there. It showed the portrait of a middle-aged man with a structured face and a strong, pointy nose. The eyes were very blue, too blue, and exaggeratedly piercing. It was an idolized version of reality. The Hood knew what the guy he was searching for looked like–he looked like the man in this painting, but he didn't have his aura. So that was how that scumbag wanted everybody to see him, more impressive and frightening than he really was. How pathetic!

Right now that scumbag continued talking, his back toward the glass door, "Whatever, we need to close shop and get the girls someplace else, someplace safer." A laugh followed. "Yes, that seems pretty safe to me. Nothing's safer that the sea... On the other hand, that's what SHE thought, too. … Yeah, move them immediately."

Without any further word he ended the call and let the cell phone drop to the wooden tabletop. Just as the "clonk" sounded through the room, The Hood softly pushed the door open and with light steps entered the room as he brought his bow up, put an arrow in place and aimed for the lamp.

With a electrical spark the light in the room went out, leaving the man in darkness.

"Cole Turner, you have failed this city!"

Startled, the man shot around to face the voice. Seeing the silhouette of a hooded figure aiming an arrow at him, he tried to step away from him, but the desk was right behind him, preventing him from going further backwards. He started shaking instantly, the confidence was gone.

"Where are the girls?"

The Hood's scrambled voice rang through the room, sounding deep and menacing.

Cole Turner's voice on the other hand was high pitched and frightened, "Girls? What girls?"

A bowstring resonated, and an arrow shot through the air. It vibrated as it sank deep into the dark wood of the heavy desk, closely to the blond man who gave a pitiful squeak.

"WHERE?!"

The unspoken threat of what would happen, if he needed to be asked again, rang in this one shouted word, and Turner reacted instantly. He blurted the address out and sank to his knees. "Please, please, don't hurt me!"

"Consider this a warning. Next time you make a … business decision," The Hood nearly spat out the words, "you better think of me and how easy is was to get to you. Because I'll be able to visit you again anytime–and if I do, I'll make sure that no third visit's necessary."

He didn't wait till Turner had completed his stammered, "Of course, that won't be necessary." Within moments The Hood dashed out of the room, leaving behind a shaking man that was still trying to come to terms with what had just happened and with that fact that his pants were wet.

* * *

The "girls" had really been girls–13, 14, the oldest 16 years old–it would take some time before somebody would call them "women". Seeing them huddled together in a tiny room, barely dressed, some clearly high, all of them nearly starving and desperate, he had wished he would have roughed the guy up harder. He had called Lance to the old warehouse in The Glades, and had watched how policemen had "rescued" the girls and how paramedics had treated their wounds and taken them to the hospital. But Oliver knew that there were some wounds that would never heal. He doubted that getting these girls out of their dirty, cold prison would actually end their suffering.

Originally, he had visited Cole Turner because he had sold people insurance policies that cost a lot of money but were ultimately good for nothing. He had known about this, but he had had no idea that Cole Turner had forced underaged girls into prostitution. He had found out about this by accident. And all of this, combined with the sight of the broken girls, made it very hard to write this of as a victory.

Angrily, he threw he bow onto a desk in his hide-out. He could feel the eyes of Diggle and Felicity on him, as a heavy silence lay over the room.

"Oliver, you-"

He cut Diggle off, right then and there, "I don't want to hear it." Oliver turned around, livid, "We had no idea what Turner was really up to! We were clueless. We are clueless! We're still poking in the mist, and sometimes we're hitting something. By accident. We found these innocent girls by accident."

Diggle kept his calm and his voice even, "I'll take an accident, if it ends with this."

"With what, Diggle?! With these girls being scarred for life? They were in there for MONTHS, we could have saved them months ago."

Diggle sighed, "When will it ever be enough, Oliver? When will you ever be satisfied? With this? With yourself?" He shook his head. Then he looked his friend stern in the eyes, "You can beat yourself up over saving people all you want. But I have enough of your self-loathing, your self-pity for today. I'm heading home."

"Self-pity?!" Oliver's posture stiffened even more, but Diggle ignored him and just started to walk toward the exit. He glanced at the only female in the room. "Good night, Felicity."

The blond nodded and tried the faintest of smiles. She watched Diggle walk to the stairs and then glanced at Oliver, who was still breathing hard. Felicity knew that he was still high on adrenaline, she had crossed him more than once when he was in a mood like this and it had always been explosive. But this time this was more than a post-aggression, post-fight-rush. He looked tired and defeated, and she realized that what he had seen tonight had really shaken him. She knew that feeling–and suddenly she knew what to say.

Felicity took a few steps towards him. "Psst," she said, gaining his attention. Their eyes met, and she tried a comforting smile, "If you ever need to tell somebody how your day was, you can tell me."


	2. Chapter 2

Guys, you are amazing! I cannot thank you enough for the nice reviews and the positive feedback! I am very glad you liked it (so far). Originally, I honestly hadn't intended to turn this multi-chapter, but your feedback made me want to try and continue this. I hope this lives up to your expectations. I tried to capture the mood of the show and to stay true to the characters, but-of course-with my own take of where I want my favorite two Team Arrow members to go. ;-) I hope you enjoy reading this. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think. And have fun with the upcoming episode tonight. I bet it's going to be good, I'm really excited. Much loves and thanks again, Jules.

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(2)

The constant clicking of the keyboard calmed him. He wasn't exactly sure when or how that had happened, but it had. He was doing chin-ups, and apart from his heavy breathing the sound of Felicity working, hacking, was the only thing that filled the room. It had been like this for 30 minutes, and he was glad that they could spend so much time in a comfortable silence.

Suddenly this silence was broken. "Got him!"

Hanging from the bar, his muscles aching gloriously, Oliver looked down at her and saw her turning around in her chair, away from the computer and to him. He saw excitement in her eyes, accomplishment, and he knew she had something good. "Got who?"

"Floyd Lawton aka Deadshot." Felicity moved her eyes back to the huge computer screen in front of her, studying the documents that she hat drawn up, as she continued talking. "Deadshot–an absolute overkill name for an assassin, if you ask me. But I guess a name like _Floyd_ won't get you far in the killing-business. I bet he was mocked in school, cooler kids probably took his lunch-money. And now he has all this anger bottled up inside of him, and he needs to find a way to let it out, and so he runs around the city with a stupid alias acting all–" She suddenly stopped herself, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

She turned around with her chair, just as Oliver let go of the bar where he had been doing his chip-ups. His feet touched the ground and his eyes met Felicity. She, like so often, looked caught as she now continued talking, "Not to say that your alias is stupid. Or that you were bullied in school, you probably weren't. I bet you were the one who–" Again she stopped herself. Lifting her hands, she quickly curled them into fists, while her mouth twisted. She was obviously once again cursing herself for talking too much–or at all.

Oliver kept her from adding yet another apology she would end up apologizing for and brought her back to the main point which had triggered her rant in the first place: "You found him?" He moved over to where she sat, his naked chest still glistening with freshly shed sweat.

"Yes, right," she turned back to the computer screen as he stopped next to her. "I wrote a program which checked all the passports of people entering the US. It cross-checked names with known fake identities of Floyd, and it used a face-recognition technique..." She glanced up at Oliver, noticed him staring at her blankly and stopped her explanation instantly. She should have known, he was never interested in how she did it, all he cared about were the results. "Floyd landed at Starling City Airport using the name Fletcher Law–with fits with his tendency for stupid, see-through aliases."

"Deadshot is back?"

"Yes, and he has a cell phone. I have the number and the provider, but I haven't been able to locate him yet."

She got up from her seat. Oliver, who had been looking over her shoulder at the screen, straightened up, but didn't step back so that he was standing close to her, looking at her with an unasked question shining in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"To the IT Department. I need to bring out the big guns." She saw that he didn't get her meaning and hurried to add. "Not that I'd try to shoot Deadshot. I'll leave that to you and your arrows. All the shooting and the intimidating and the ... Grrr."

The faintest hint of a smile played around his lips, "I'm really glad to hear that, Felicity."

Now she got back to her main point, "I need more power than I have here to get to Deadshot. I need the computer of Queen Consolidated."

"It's better than what we have here?"

Now she looked at him like he must have lost his mind. "Yes, Oliver, it's a little better than the system you have here in the cellar underneath your club."

He nodded slowly and then stepped away from her, bringing more space between them. "It's a lair, but... Okay," he reached for his discarded shirt. "I'll drive you."

She took her purse, "You don't have to."

"After what happened the last time you used the QD-computer, I have to." He slipped his jacket on, looked at her and then motioned to the desk to his left, "This computer may not have as much power, but it's safer," he said, adding, "Better protection."

"I always use protection." She had been digging through her purse for her keys, but stopped as soon as she realized what had just left her mouth. Her eyes snapped up to meet Oliver's slightly amused ones. "I mean technical protection. Safety protocols. Firewalls. Not condoms." She was talking quicker each second. "I mean I do use condoms, but– You didn't need to know that..."

He just looked at her, smiling that way he always smiled at her. It was that smile that always made Felicity ponder, if it was a sign of fondness or forbearance. She sighed and just held up the keys she had finally found. "Let's go."

* * *

"Okay, bye." Oliver ended the call, just as the elevator doors opened with a soft "pling". Stepping into the mirrored booth, he looked at Felicity. "Diggle's on his way."

"How did he take the news?" Felicity asked while she stood next to him and the elevator started moving up.

Oliver didn't really know how to answer that question. Deadshot had killed Diggle's brother, Diggle was seeking revenge, it was all he had talked about for the lately. Oliver felt much pressure on him to finally bring the assassin to justice. Oliver was sure that Felicity felt it, too. She had put much effort into the search for Deadshot, she had even put her researches to find Walter on hold. Oliver knew that this was her main project whenever nothing else was keeping them busy, but it had been replaced. They knew that Diggle could only find peace when Deadshot was gone, and they both wanted him to finally move on with his life, to get some rest and happiness.

It was the first time that Oliver was fighting somebody else's fight. Before, it had always been his mission, crossing off names or going after somebody to protect somebody he cared about or to bring somebody to justice that he had found guilty. Now he was doing this for his friend, who had saved his life many times. He needed this to go well, he needed this to end. Talking to Diggle on the phone just now had stressed that. Diggle needed this to end.

Suddenly Felicity sighed, "Yeah, I know." She nodded, and a seriousness clouded her face that showed Oliver that she probably really knew. She often did. She often reacted to things he left unspoken. She often sensed what was really on his mind. This only happened with her and Diggle. Because they were the only ones who really knew what was going on in his life. They were the only ones he had let in–and every time they said or did the right thing at the exactly right time he was glad that he had. And that was why this mission was so important.

He straightened up, "We'll get him. You'll hack his phone and track him, I will hunt him down."

Felicity nodded and opened her purse to get the keycard for her office out. "The IT Department should be empty. Only Collin works past 7 pm, but not today. It's Wednesdays, he has chess training." The elevator came to a halt and both were ready to exit the cabin. "Yeah, I know," Felicity said, when the door opened, "computers and chess, how nerdy..." She suddenly fell quiet and was rooted to the spot.

A moment of awkward, surprised silence followed. Oliver broke it, recovering first, "Mom," he said, all fake smiles, "You work late." He placed his hand on the small of Felicity's back, directing her forward, out of the elevator booth and into the hall.

Moira Queen, who had been waiting for the elevator, took a step back, making room for them. "I had a meeting with the IT supervisor." She didn't elaborate further, but took in the sight of her son with the smaller blond girl. Curiosity was visible in her eyes as she quickly studied Felicity, her glasses, the red lip-stick, the white blouse and the green pencil-skirt.

Oliver tried to shift his mother's attention by finding his manners, "Oh, I'm sorry. Mom, this is Felicity. Felicity, my mother, Moira Queen."

"I know who you are," Felicity blurted out now, but stopped herself instantly. This was the worst moment to get socially awkward, so she forced herself to only say, "I mean, I work here."

"You do?" Moira tried a small smile. "Well, you certainly work late." Her eyes shifted to Oliver, "What brings you here at this hour?"

Oliver met his mother's gaze, while his mind worked over time–till it went completely blank, "We're on our way to the movies."

A frown showed up at Moira's face, and all Oliver could think was a lame ass 'Damn it!'. How could he suck so bad at coming up with cover-stories under pressure–or in general, really? It was obvious that Moira was about ask more, when Felicity spoke up. "I made Oliver come see the new Star Trek movie with me." She brought her keycard up, "But I forgot my wallet in my office."

Moira looked at her silently for a few moments, before she slowly nodded. "I see." She glanced back to her son shortly. A smile showed on her face, "Then, Oliver, I can assume that you will to bring Felicity tomorrow?" When she saw the non-understanding on her son's face, she added, "To the opera. We were invited to the premiere of 'The Magic Flute' due to our donation." She sighed, "Oliver, I told you about this!"

"I must have forgot."

"Well," Moira stated, "then it is a good thing I reminded you. So I can expect you both to come?"

Felicity tensed a little, but Oliver's poker face stayed even, "I don't want to cause you any trouble. It's rather last minute."

"Oh," Moira made a dismissive gesture, "It's no trouble. I will arrange everything." She looked at Felicity, "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Felicity just smiled and nodded. She really didn't trust her voice.

Moira stepped into the elevator. "Then it's settled. Have a nice evening."

"Yes, mother, you too." Oliver nodded.

The doors started to close, and Moira looked sternly at her son. "Oh, and Oliver: Next time a girl forgets her wallet, you just invite her to the movies, okay?" With that the door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

You guys are amazing! Thank you so, so much for your feedback. It means the world to me. And I'm glad so many of your share my sense of humor. ;-) I hope you enjoy this next chapter as much. Let me know what you think!

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(3)

He had to upgrade his system, match the power of Queen-Consolidated's computer at his lair. The last two hours had proven that. Because he had spent the last two hours with a silent Diggle sitting stiffly on a chair and a silent Felicity staring at a computer screen. She was so much in her own head that she had probably forgotten where they were. Which left Oliver with nothing to do, with being forced to wait–and he sucked at both, at doing nothing and at waiting.

The impatience was audible in his voice as he now said, "How much longer, Felicity?" He was pacing the small room.

Felicity sounded preoccupied, "I'm working on it."

He continued walking and cursed the size of this office. He couldn't even do proper push-ups here, he couldn't keep himself busy. He stopped and looked around. "When did you move here, anyway? What happened to the colorful office you had, when I visited you the first time?"

"Walter promoted me," was Felicity's short answer, and Oliver hated the fact that he had suddenly turned into the one talking much–at least _much_ by his standards.

"Seriously, Felicity, it has been two hours."

She reached for something laying on her desk and held it out to him without her eyes leaving the screen, "Here, keep yourself busy with this."

Oliver took the magazines she was holding out to him. He quickly checked the covers: Tech News, Science Weekly, Vouge. He raised an eyebrow and showed the latter to Felicity, who registered it out of the corner of her eyes. "Shocker," she stated evenly, "I'm into fashion."

Actually, it wasn't. He had noticed that Felicity was very particular about what she put on her body. Never would she show up at the lair wearing just jeans and t-shirt. She had her own style, which proved her to care about fashion. He just wouldn't have believed her to read such a magazine with clothes that were clearly very designer and mainstream.

He threw the magazines back on the desk noisily, and started pacing again. After a few moments he, again, stopped and opened his mouth. But before he could say anything Diggle did, his voice tense. "Just let her work!" Instantly, the men glared at each other.

It was Felicity who ended the stare-out by suddenly hushing out the words, "I'm in."

The men stopped the glaring instantly and rushed to stand left and right to the sitting girl, all three of them looking at the computer. Felicity was talking again, "This was ridiculously decoded, and I wasn't able to track him–he must have turned his GPS-chip off, which is seriously complicated. He must either have mad skills or he has a personal hacker. And if so..." She glanced at Oliver, grinning, "then your hacker just kicked his hacker's ass." She kept smiling, till she really registered Oliver's face and turned serious instantly.

Diggle, obviously, wasn't in the mood for this, "So, you don't know where he is. Is there anything you do know?!"

She motioned to the screen. "I managed to get to his contacts and to his messages. They were only two, messages that is. One only consisted of numbers. A code, most likely, but it was pretty see-through. Here," she pointed at what she was getting at, "this must be the date..."

Diggle nodded, "Tomorrow."

Oliver motioned to the screen. "And this is the time 2035."

"8.35 pm," Diggle translated the military time. "And it's happening in Starling City, because the last part is the postal code."

Oliver was tense, "Yes, but that doesn't tell us where he is."

"Maybe the second message I found will help," Felicity typed a few commands quickly, and scanned the screen. "It's only letters... HK SCRQO TMF." Felicity frowned, "Okay, I get the coded numbers, but this just makes me want to buy a vowel."

Diggle hit the desk with full force with his flat hand, making everything that was placed on top of it shake. Anger and aggravation was radiating from him as he instantly lost his temper and the tension he was feeling, that had built up within in the last hours, had to break free. But Oliver barely registered it, because he felt like a sudden light had been turned on. "What are the chances..." he whispered and instantly gained the full attention of the two other.

"What?" Diggle asked instantly, insistently.

"SCRQO – Starling City Robert Queen Opera. That's the donation my mother talked about."

Felicity frowned, "You donated a whole opera?"

"Just the restoration."

"Oh," Felicity mocked, "if it's just that..."

She opened a search engine, while Oliver continued to de-riddle the letters. "TFM. My mom said they'll show 'The Magic Flute' tomorrow."

"Yes," Felicity agreed, "and guess who's singing Tamino? Hamilton Koch."

"HK." Diggle looked at the others.

Oliver shook his head, aggravated, now he felt like slamming the table. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat and clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Hamilton Koch," he pressed out, his jaw tense, "the name's on the list."

The other two looked at him, stunned. Oliver's face tightened, thinking about the implications of this. Why did everything come back to this, to the Undertaking, to his father, his devise, his legacy? Oliver still felt so clueless, he had no idea what to make of this. The Undertaking was nothing but an empty label that he could fill with nothing. He was right back to what he had said just a few nights ago after he had visited Cole Turner: They were poking in the mist and everything they hit was just an accident. Like this new connection. It meant something, Oliver knew. But he just didn't know what it meant.

Diggle chose to see all this from an different, a more positive perspective. "We know who's Deadshot's next target, we know when and where he will strike. This is a chance!"

Oliver looked at him for a few moments, before he just chose to agree. "Yes, it is." This was a chance to finally spring into action. Oliver snapped into his take-charge, leader mode. His voice turned business-like from one moment to the next, "Felicity, I need the plans of the opera. And of the buildings surrounding it. We need to find the position where Deadshot will most likely wait to strike. 8.35 pm, that seems like a strange time... Maybe there's a way to find out where Koch will be at this exact time... Diggle, I need you to talk to your contacts, see if they can make sense of this."

Diggle got up from his seat immediately. "On my way." He rushed out of the room without another word, ready to get Oliver the information needed to avenge his brother, even though, it was close to midnight.

Oliver looked at Felicity who was typing again. "Felicity," he said, getting her attention, "You will not be at the opera tomorrow." The blonde girl stared at him questioningly, so he said more, "There's a crazy killer planning an attack in this building. We have no idea what exactly he has planned or what exactly is going on. And I don't want you there, in harms way, it's too dangerous."

"Your mother will be there, and your sister..."

"I don't want them to be there either. But there's no believable reason I can tell them to keep them from going. You know how bad I am with coming up with stories..." She nodded definite agreement; he gave her a hard stare and then continued talking. "But you know what's going on, Felicity. I don't have to make anything up for you. And that's why I tell you: I don't want you in harm's way, I don't want you to be anywhere near that building."

She looked at him for quite a few seconds before she said, "Oliver, no offense, but that's BS. Because you're looking at it all wrong. I know your secret, I know what's going on–so I can help you. I'm aware of the danger, but I tell you I want to be there–and I will be there. Because like this you will have someone right there with you, who's informed and on your side. That's an advantage you should take."

"No," he said and he really meant it. He had put too many people in danger too often lately. There was McKenna, who had been shot because of him. And he certainly hadn't forgotten about the whole bomb-collar fiasco. "I need you at the lair, in front of a computer screen."

"I will bring my tablet. No problem. I can fit that into my purse."

"Felicity..." his voice was full of warning.

"Oliver, I like rock music." He frowned, confused about her sudden change of topic. What did that have to do with anything? But she was still talking quickly, and not even the look on his face could stop her, "If you ever get tickets for a Foo Fighters gig, I'm there with you, first row, elbows extended. But I could really go without an evening with Mozart... Not that I'm a philistine, or anything, I recognize his genius, being able to play the piano with three, kudos to you, buddy. My mom forced me to play the clarinet when I was seven, but with 13 that led to many horrible comments about my blowing-skills by Peter Jenkins and that was really–"

"Felicity..."

"My point is: I could really think of better things to do than listening to Mozart. And the idea of going the opera with the..." She drew quotation marks in the air, "'official you' and especially the thought of meeting your mother again really freaks me out."

Oliver looked at her, blankly, "The official me?"

"The Oliver-Queen-you, the billionaire-playboy, club-owner. He's really intimidating, you know." Felicity sighed, "But what I'm trying to say is: I would much rather hide in your cellar–sorry–in your_ lair_, but I won't, because I want to help you–and Diggle–with this, and I know can do something when I'm there with you. So I will be there with you."

Oliver looked at the girl sitting in front of him. Determination was surrounding her, her eyes were meeting his, nearly challengingly. He should tell her 'no' and leave it at that, but strangely he could only think of one question he needed to ask, "And who's the unofficial me?"

She frowned at the question, obviously finding it ridiculous that he would even ask, "That's you, right now. It's when you're just Oliver." And he couldn't help but smile.


	4. Chapter 4

I know I say it all the time, but I really, really mean it: You guys are amazing! Thank you for all your reviews and your huge support. It really motivates me to write and update quickly. I must say, the action really challenged me, but I gave it my all. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations and you have fun reading it. Please note that I changed the rating just to be sure. Okay, enough said. On to the story. Enjoy!

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(4)

The plan was far from fool-proof, but it was all they got, and so Oliver had decided to just go for it. Ultimately, it would all come down to his fighting-skills and, ultimately, he didn't mind that at all. Lately, they had been all that he could truly depend on. He rarely felt as in control and as self-assured as he did when he was in a fight. He had survived the island, he had mastered his skills in years of training. Nobody could take that away from him. He knew what he was doing when he put on the hood. It was when he was without it that he felt like things were falling apart.

He didn't have time to dwell on this any further as Diggle now stopped the limousine in front of the opera house. The posh building was illuminated brightly. Colorful lights were painting highlights on the white facade and on the engraving above the entrance where the new name was sprawled out. A red carpet was stretching from the street to the entrance. Huge spotlights were placed along it, sending light rays into the sky, cutting into the dark of the evening. This was typical Staring City where everything that was done was done big.

Oliver looked to the front toward Diggle, who met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. Oliver's voice was determined, "Let's do this."

Diggle just nodded and got out of his seat to fulfill his duty as a good bodyguard, which meant walking around the car and opening the door for his boss. Diggle had been strained all day long, tautness was oozing from him. He hadn't talked much, had only said the necessary minimum, while continually stressing that tonight needed to go well and that this was a chance that would hardly come around again.

This had not exactly helped to calm the nerves of Oliver and Felicity, who both were very aware of the importance of this night. It was important not only to finally stop a killer for good and to help Diggle get his revenge, but also to answer some questions. Hamilton Koch was the target, but he also was on the list. Oliver planned to work his patented Hood-magic–also known as the fear of God–to get some information out of him. And so God and his fear help him, he would not leave empty handed tonight.

Oliver glanced at Felicity, who looked very pretty in a red dress. "Ready?"

She seemed uneasy. "There are photographers! Why didn't you tell me that this plan involves paparazzi?"

"Felicity, this plan involves a skilled assassin. It never occurred to me that you'd need a warning of cameras when you know about the sniper rifle."

She looked consternated. "For a well-known womanizer you are very unaware of how the female mind works."

For a few moments they both stared at each other silently till Diggle positioned himself next to the door and moved to open it. Oliver shot Felicity a small, encouraging smile and said, "If it helps you, I'll be my unofficial self tonight." He glanced at her a few seconds longer while she returned his smile due to his statement, before he turned to the right, where he was instantly greeted by uncounted flash-lights. He got out of the car, quickly straightened his black suit, and then turned back to hold his hand out to Felicity, who took it and got out of the car, too. It felt as if the flash-lights got brighter, but Oliver ignored it. He just offered his arm to Felicity, who linked hers with his, and led her a step away from the limo so that Diggle could close the door. The men's gazes met for a moment, and Oliver used it for a quick nod. Letting Diggle see the determination and the promise in his eyes, he said quietly, "It ends tonight." Then he and Felicity stepped onto the red carpet.

* * *

The foyer was decorated poshly. White marble dominated the layout. Opposite to the entrance was a window as big as the whole wall. Perfectly kept grass and a huge fountain could be seen though it. Left and right of the hall marble stairs where leading upward to where the auditorium was. A huge bronze bust was placed on the right. It was the sculptured face of Robert Queen, his father, the generous donor. Oliver couldn't stand to took at the thing, but sadly his mother and his sister were standing right next to it. Taking a breath, Oliver took two glasses of champagne off a tray a waiter was offering him, handed one to Felicity and lead her toward his family.

"Mother, Thea," he greeted when they reached them. He kissed his mother's cheek and quickly hugged his sister, before he turned back to Felicity, who stood a little behind him. Placing his hand on her back he directed her toward his family members. "Mother, you remember Felicity." Then his eyes met Thea's curious ones, "Thea, this is my friend Felicity. Felicity, this is Thea, my sister."

The girls greeted each other, and Moira chose to try and lift the slightly awkward atmosphere. "Felicity, it's good you came. And you look lovely."

"Thank you," Felicity answered with a smile, but–of course–didn't leave it at that, but added, "It was all my sister. Thank God, Prudence knows what she's doing. Because, you know, she's a professional." Felicity's stopped talking for half a second and slightly, quickly shook her head before she added. "Hairstylist. She's a professional at doing hair. Not at doing... other things. Even though, there was a time when she really–" She, again, stopped talking –and continued, "Let's just say there was a time when Prudence wasn't always very prudent."

Thea couldn't help but grin, "Or prudish, it seems."

"Thea!" Moira chided her daughter, who looked unaffected.

"You all look very beautiful tonight," Oliver complimented the assembled women and gained two polite smiles and a happy one.

"So," Thea spoke up, "how did you meet Ollie?"

"I work in the IT department of Queen Consolidated. And one day Oliver walked in, because he needed somebody to fix his laptop." Felicity quickly glanced at Oliver, "He had spilled a latte over it."

The shadow of a smile showed around Oliver's face, before he said, "Felicity helped me save the data I needed."

"So," Thea smiled ambiguously, "you won Ollie over with your technical skills."

Oliver was about to answer adequately to this, but Felicity spoke up first, "Well, I mean, a lot happened while Oliver was lost a sea. After all, he still has a MySpace-account. That's like Facebook's ugly twin sister and so 2006. But I guess when you're on a deserted island there's hardly anything you can twitter about." She noticed the stunned faces of the women opposite to her and hurried to add, "not that this would be an issue... Or something to joke about..."

Oliver stopped her from saying anymore by evenly stating, "Of course not, Felicity would never joke about Twitter." Ignoring the looks his relatives sent him, he motioned to the stairs on the right, "I think we should get to our seats."

Moira's eyes wandered from her son to Felicity and back, before she slowly nodded, "Yes, I think we should."

* * *

Oliver and Felicity had their own loge. Moira had complained about the mess up, she had wanted to sit with both her children, but Oliver had just calmed her and had told her not to bother with such a minor mistake. What he hadn't told her was that it was all his doing. Or rather: Felicity's. Her hacking skills had made sure that they would have their own, closed loge so that nobody would notice Oliver was gone. He had stood in the booth that was placed in the back of the auditorium, about seven feet above the parquet, and had made sure that people had seen him, but as soon as the lights had gone off, he had sat down and reached to the back of his pant, where he had smuggled Felicity's tablet in. Despite her claim, the thing hadn't fit into her tiny purse.

She set up quickly, and as the first notes rang through the huge room, she had already established a link to Diggle, who had taken position in the building next to the opera, which was separated by a street. Like this he had the perfect view onto the back of the opera and the building behind it, where they were very sure Deadshot would position. Because the huge glass-wall that looked so fancy in the foyer spread out over the whole back facade–and it bared Hamilton Koch perfectly to Deadshot when he was waiting for his cue–at 8.35 pm.

"All clear," Diggle informed them now. "I haven't seen him yet."

Oliver glanced at his watch. 8.05 pm, half an hour left. Felicity fingers were flying over the pad. Thank God the typing made no sound or this would have never gone unnoticed. Not five minutes later, she turned to Oliver and whispered, "It's done."

Oliver nodded. He had learned from previous mistakes and especially from the mistake that had gotten him arrested. Felicity had manipulated the security cameras, they would show the never chancing picture of empty halls, so that he could leave and return unnoticed. And that was what he would do now.

He had gotten quick with changing. It didn't take long till he had taken his position on the roof of the opera directly opposite to the building they believed Deadshot to be in. "Anything?" he asked, and Diggle's voice hit his ear instantly, "Nothing."

Felicity had sensed some irony in him sniping the sniper, but he and Diggle had agreed that it was the safest and the easiest way. They both didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. But... If he didn't know where to aim, he couldn't strike. He glanced at his watch, 8.25 pm. Deadshot had to be there. Or was the assassin really so daring to arrive in the last minute? Uneasiness grew within him. He waited for another minute, before he said, "Diggle, talk to me!"

"I have nothing to tell you," Diggle's voice sounded even more aggravated than before.

Something was most definitely up. 8.27 pm. Okay, that was enough. "I'm going in," he informed the others and instantly heard Diggle's order to "stick to the plan". He ignored it and reached for one of his special-arrows, aimed for a steel box on the opposite roof that stored the ventilation system and moments later he was crossing the gap between the two buildings by gliding down the rope he had tautened there.

He had only made it halfway over when the hair on his neck raised up. He could feel it, Deadshot was there–and he was aiming at him. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he did, and he was deadly sure. It was more instinct than reaction when he let go of the rope and used the momentum to continue flying toward the building. And instantly he knew that he had been right, that he had done the right thing. The sound of shots cut through the air, right behind him. It was a constant staccato of firing, and he knew that this must be the little machine gun that Deadshot had introduced him to during their very first encounter.

He heard Diggle's forceful "OLIVER!" in his ear, but ignored it completely. His fingers grabbed the edge of the roof, he pulled himself up, and only moments later he was standing on the roof, his bow drawn. He had no time to really scan his surroundings, to get a overview of the scene and the scenery in front of him as his opponent was running toward him, his gun pointed at him and blazing. The Hood released the string and sent an awfully unaimed arrow into the night. He jumped to the right and with a quick roll over the slightly wet rooftop took cover behind the metal box his rope-arrow was still sticking in.

The metallic sound of bullets hitting the barrier behind him rang through the night and was followed by the shocking silence that could only be caused be previous very aggressive noise.

A slight laugh followed and then a taunting voice, "I heard you from a mile away."

Trying to calm his breathing, Oliver concentrated on the voice, not on the words it was saying, but on the direction it was coming from. 'From the left', he told himself, and moved to the right. His back was still to the metallic cube as he moved around it.

Deadshot was still talking. He sounded confident, a strange mixture of happiness and hate was vibrating in his voice, "I've been looking forward to meeting you again. The moment I placed a foot into this city, I knew you'd come and I'd get my rematch. Last time, you took a lucky shot, I give you that. But your luck is used up, my friend."

"I'm not your friend," The Hood corrected him with his dark and unrecognizable voice and jumped out of his cover. He had moved so that he was behind Deadshot, who–despite all his confidence and self-assuredness–hadn't expected this. "And luck had nothing to do with it." His bow was drawn, and nearly too fast for the eye he shot one arrow and then a second. But Deadshot recovered quickly and moved his body sideways. He brought his wrist up and with it the machine gun that was strapped there. The assassin fired at The Hood, which was silhouetted against the full moon.

It didn't stop one arrow from hitting the killer's leg. Deadshot's yell of pain was laced with anger and a certain craziness as he kept firing. But The Hood was moving already, running in a zigzag course toward him. Deadshot was firing wildly, not taking the time to really aim–which Oliver was thankful for, because he knew that would have made things more difficult. He jumped at the killer, raised his hand, which was curled into a fist, back behind his head and brought in down, hitting Deadshot's face perfectly, forcefully. The killer roared again and brought his own hand up Hood had anticipated it and used his elbow to deflect it. Another load of bullets took off into the empty air.

Holding onto his opponent's hand he twisted Deadshot's arm, but the assassin elbowed him between the rips, causing The Hood to loosen his grip.

Deadshot turned, nearly pirouetted, around and reached for the hood. With a quick, forceful push it pulled it back. "Oh," he smiled as the eyes of the two fighters' met, "You're not who I expected. But it's nice to finally see you face to face, Mr. Queen." They were standing close to each other, so close that Oliver could feel the killer's breath on his skin, as he now said, "That was all I wanted. Know who you really are. You took my eye, but I'm not the guy who's satisfied by an eyes for an eye. And from my daily work, from my profession, I know that there are worse things than dying. No, Mr. Queen, I will not kill you. I will not mutilate your body. I will mutilate your soul. Now I know who you are, and now I can take everyone who love away from you."

He grinned crazily, but Oliver didn't dignify that with an answer. At least not with a spoken one. Instead, he instantly attacked again, and pushed his foot into the hollow of the killer's left knee, causing the other man buckle to the ground. Oliver moved around him and reached toward his quiver. His one arm kept Deadshot in place, whose hand was reaching for Oliver's face, his fingers trying to dig into his eye. But Oliver held him close to him, while his right hand moved to Deadshot's throat and, with all the force he could bring up, he pushed an arrow into it. Blood was spilling onto Oliver's hand as the strength left the fingers which had been clawing at his face. One last time machine gun fire ripped through the night, this time accompanied by a pitiful gurgling sound as Floyd Lawton took his last breath.

Stepping back, Oliver let the already limp body fall to the ground. He looked down at the man at his feet and took a moment to take the sight in. He knew he shouldn't feel such a strong sense of accomplishment, but he did. He had just brutally spilled a man's blood, but he didn't feel bad about it. Instead, he turned the voice scrambler off and said, "It's done."

"Are you sure?" Diggle asked.

"100 percent."

Silence followed this, and Oliver knew that Diggle was at a loss for words. He didn't mind it, there was nothing left to say anyway. He reached for his hood and pulled it back up. "Now it's time for me to have a little talk with Hamilton Koch." He was already moving back toward the opera, when he heard Felicity's voice. She whispered, "Oliver, you need to come back to the loge as fast as you can."

"I can't. I need to get to Koch."

"You can't. Somebody else got to him first. Koch was just killed on stage by a falling spotlight."


	5. Chapter 5

Again, I can say nothing but: THANK YOU all for your reviews and your follows. I am so glad you enjoy this story. It means the world to me. Much, much love!

* * *

(5)

It hadn't been an accident. The police files, which Felicity had given them access to, had proven it. The screws had been scratched when somebody had loosened them. The spotlight had not fallen onto the stage by accident, it had been aimed at Hamilton Koch. Oliver had been sure of that instantly. While everybody stood around him, gushing about Murphy's Law and cruel, cruel destiny, he had known that fate had nothing to do with it. And he had known that he had failed. He hadn't been able to save the tenor, he hadn't been able to ask him a few questions and make him sing just for him. Why an opera singer, who only rarely visited Starling City if he had a seasonal engagement, was on the list, Oliver still couldn't say. And how he didn't know how to find out.

But thankfully the sudden death on stage had distracted people. He had somehow managed to get back to the loge unseen, fetch Felicity and then search for his mother and his sister without anybody noticing that he had been gone–or that there were scratches on his cheek.

The only good thing about this horrible night had been Diggle's face, when he had fetched them from the entrance. The tension that had previously hardened his face had been gone. It seemed like a huge weight was lifted of Diggle's shoulders, like he could breath freely again–and, ultimately, that was all that he had wanted: give his friend peace and the vengeance he longed for. This should feel like a win, but, really–it didn't. It felt like another time when he just wasn't enough.

Discontent was clawing at his insides, which was strangely fueled by the vision of Lawton's dead body lying on a roof-top, a puddle of blood collecting around him while the cold moon-light illuminated the scene. It brought back memories of the island, where acts of such violence were not uncommon and where he–after the first uneasy months–hadn't thought twice about opening a man's throat. But he wasn't on the island anymore, and he hadn't shed that much blood since he had returned to Starling City. He had lost control when Deadshot had taunted him like he had, he had hated him and he had wanted to destroy him.

Now he had to live with the fact that he had.

He had spent nearly the whole night brooding, and he felt tired and strained as he walked down the stairs to the lair. His body was sore already and aching from last night's fight, but he was looking forward to an intense training session anyway. He needed to move to, maybe, stop his mind–or at least to slow it down.

He had expected the lair to be empty, but as he took the last step he was greeted by the clicking of a keyboard. Felicity was already there, sitting at the desk, her back toward him. She was so lost in her work that she didn't notice him walking up to her. He stood behind her for a few moments, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen where numbers were piling up. He knew he would startle her, but spoke up anyway, "It's only 7 am, Felicity. Isn't it too early for binary code?"

As he had expected, she jumped in her chair, shocked. She turned to him, angry. "Do you always have to sneak up on me?"

"I didn't sneak. Why would I sneak into my own lair?"

"You really startled me," she informed him, even though there was no need to do so. Her hand was still resting on her chest, but the shock had left her eyes. Instead, it was now replaced by sternness as she said, "And, Oliver, it's never too early for binary code."

"What are you working on?"

"On Hamilton Koch."

Oliver tilted his head to the side slightly, looking at her questioningly, but said nothing.

She answered the unspoken question. "Last night, after the fight with Floyd, you looked like somebody had shot your dog." She briefly looked at him and then hurried to add, "Not that I would approve of violence against animals or shooting them. I mean, I do eat meat, so I'm not totally against killing animals. But I'm against killing dogs–and not only, because I wouldn't eat them. I just don't want them harmed. I'm kinda on the fence with kangaroos, though. I wish them no harm, but they scare–"

Oliver decided this was probably a good time to stop her. "Felicity..."

"Right. So, you looked really upset yesterday, because you couldn't talk to Koch. And I couldn't sleep last night, because of the adrenaline–apparently sitting in an opera loge, while having to stay quiet while somebody shoots at you and then seeing somebody get clobbered over the head by a spotlight, isn't exactly good for my nerves. So, as I lay in bed I just couldn't help but think that there must be more to Koch, because somebody wanted him dead. And I don't think it's a coincidence that somebody wants him dead in Starling City. And since I knew that you'd snap at me, if had researched about this at home, because of your protection issues, I decided to come and put my insomnia to good use."

"And?" he asked, "Did you use it well?"

"I did," she looked serious, "but you won't like it. Which really sucks, because my original plan was to cheer you up and not to make things even worse."

He sighed. He suddenly felt even more tired than he had before. "Just tell me."

"It took some digging, but Hamilton Koch wasn't his real name. He was born as Helmut Koch in Germany. His parents were rich and sent him to a boarding school in the US." She typed in a few commands and then stated, "This is his class-picture."

Oliver recognized him, instantly. Not _him_ Koch, but _him_ Robert Queen. "He knew my father..."

"Yes," Felicity voice was small, "And Mr. Merlyn. They all went to school together. I was just following a money trail that connects all three of them. They invested in the same business ten years ago, but I can't really figure out, what exactly this business does. It's all very fishy. But it doesn't seem to be a letterbox company either. Even though, Koch invested in quite a lot of them, too. I was just tracing the third to the Caymen Islands when you walked in. There definitely was more to him than his voice."

Oliver's face had hardened with each word she had spoken. Why did each information they gathered only lead to more and more questions? Now he felt even more angry that he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Koch. He clenched his fist and grid his jaw.

"You did everything you could." Felicity's voice was soft, understanding, but he didn't want any of that right now.

"Then clearly my everything wasn't enough," he spat.

She stayed calm and accepted his anger, "Sometimes all you can do is all you can do. You need to accept that– "

He cut her off, "NO! I will never accept this. I will never accept failure! If I did that I wouldn't have survived the island. And I survived the island to right a wrong–and I'm still not completely sure what this wrong is. So, clearly, my efforts were more than insufficient."

She stared at him, and he had no idea, what was going on in her mind. And, honestly, he didn't want to know, because it couldn't be good. He stepped away from her, away from this conversation. He needed to hit something, he needed to let his frustrations out, he needed to train.

"You did right Diggle's wrong."

Felicity's simple statement stopped him in mid-step. Still, he didn't turn around as she continued talking, "Because of you Diggle smiled last night. He hasn't smiled in weeks. You did something amazing for your friend. And you should let yourself enjoy that. For once, Oliver, accept that you did good."

All that he could think was: She wouldn't say that if she knew how the fight had played out. But he swallowed this statement, not being able to voice it to anyone. She used his silence to continue talking. "And I found out more."

This sentence took him by surprise, instantly he turned around. She looked proud with herself as she said, "We agreed that the spotlight-thing was no accident, right? But if it wasn't, somebody had to really aim with this thing. Somebody had to be at the drawing loft to make it hit Koch. There are no cameras up there, but there is one in the hall pointing directly at the door leading to it. And since I overrode all cameras yesterday and used my tablet connected to the lair-computer to do so, I have all the videos saved. I checked the tapes and I found somebody entering that door. I'm running him through facial rec as we speak."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, then he smiled. "Felicity." The smile grew even bigger, "You are amazing. Did I ever tell you that?"

Felicity returned the honest smile, "No, but you did call me remarkable once. Which was a nice remark."

"Well, you are both."

"Thank you."

"No, Felicity. I thank _you_."


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all so much for your amazing feedback. You are just awesome! Sadly, I feel like I have to apologize for this chapter. I rewrote it quite a few times, but I'm still not really happy. I know that my dislike for a certain character is part of the problem. I know I exaggerated certain character traits that I find annoying, but I hope you can still bear me driving my point home. I would still like to hear what you think. Constructive criticism is very welcome.

Thanks again for reading and sticking with this story, it means so much to me!

* * *

(6)

It had been late when Oliver had returned home. But for once he didn't come home from a fight, but from burger and beer with Diggle and Felicity–and Carly. Diggle had invited them, wanting them all to be together. He was so relieved and happy, he felt like the avenging of his brother called for a celebration. Carly had no idea what they were really celebrating, but she hadn't exactly asked. She just seemed happy that Diggle finally was at ease. He had even kissed Carly in front of the others, which he had never done before. Oliver had just accepted that tonight was a day off and had tried to be in the moment and good company, but his thoughts had always wandered back to the lair where the search program was still trying to identify the man from the opera security tape.

And his thoughts had stayed there after he had returned home. He had tossed and turned in bed for hours, even though, he was utterly exhausted. It had been dawn when he had finally fallen asleep, and when he had opened his eyes again, the room was brightly lit. A glance at the clock told him that it was nearly noon. The fact that it was so late already startled Oliver. Pre-island Oliver may have rarely been up earlier, mostly sleeping even longer, but this hadn't happened to him in years. In a hurry he got up, took a quick shower and got dressed.

Not fifteen minutes later he hurried down the stairs toward the hall, where Thea stood, greeting him with a smirk on her face. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased. "Did you have an exciting Saturday night?"

"Oh, yes," Oliver answered, "You know my life, always filled with excitement."

The grin stayed on Thea's face. "Was Felicity the cause of it?"

"Thea," he stopped close to his sister, "Felicity is just a friend."

"A good-looking friend. The press is head over heels with the mysterious blond who won over Oliver Queen." She fake pouted, "They printed her picture even bigger than mine."

"But, Thea," Oliver mocked, "size doesn't matter."

The grin on his sister's face grew, and Oliver cursed himself for saying such a sentence, such a Felicity-sentence. He must be spending too much time with her lately. Before Thea could comment on his stupid comment, he continued talking, "I have to hurry, I'm meeting Laurel for lunch."

"Laurel?" Thea frowned. "But what about Felicity?"

"I told you: We're just friends."

"Yes, but she makes you smile. I saw you smile at least three times at something she said. That must be a record since you came back."

Oliver frowned, "I smile."

Thea looked at him sternly–and Oliver realized that he really was not in the mood for this. "I have to go."

"Yes, go to Felicity. She makes you smile. Laurel only makes you frown. And that creates the ugly kind of wrinkles!"

Oliver ignored her, "Bye, Speedy!" He wasn't 100 % sure, but he thought he heard her say "Bye, stupid" before he closed the door.

* * *

Oliver was nervous. His hands were clammy. He sat at the table in this restaurants that critiques and hipsters praised equally and couldn't help the knot in his stomach. It wasn't a real date, he reminded himself, you didn't date at lunch. It was only a casual meal shared by two friends. Sadly, this exact female friend had filled his fantasies, his thoughts in the last years–while she had only thought badly of him. She was all he longed for–and she had chosen his best friend. This was a messed up situation, to say the least. It was a good reason to get nervous about.

But there was also excitement which left him so unruly. He was excited to finally share a meal with her, with only her. They had rarely been alone and hadn't been able to have a real conversation.

Finally, he saw her heading toward his table. She looked beautiful, her dark hair flowed around her face as the sun cast highlights into her locks. It was a slow-motion moment happening in real-time. He could have never imagined this as he had lain on the cold floor in the wreck of a crashed plane. Reality most definitely topped his fantasy.

He rose from his seat and greeted her with a smile and a polite kiss on the cheek. It was a harmless, a friendly touch, but it meant a lot to Oliver. The fact that such a strong reaction to a weak touch was slightly pitiful wasn't lost on him.

"Ollie," Laurel said, sitting down. "I'm sorry, I'm a little late."

"No worries," he said, forcing a smile. She looked tense, so he added, "Did anything happen?"

"I'm working on a really important case. An old couple is in danger of losing their home." She took the menu from the waiter, who had positioned right next to their table. "It's heartbreaking. I need to do something about it, I'm the only one who can help them."

Oliver looked at the girl opposite to him and couldn't help but ask himself, if that was how he sounded to Diggle and Felicity. A cold jolt of shock hit him as he suddenly realized what he had just thought. Trying to cover it, he took the other menu from the waiter and seconded Laurel's order of soda. She had already opened the menu and was studying the listed dishes when Oliver said the only thing he could think of, "I'm sure you'll figure this out."

"Well," she glanced up at him shortly, "I'm working on that. There are two ways I could go with this, but I'm still not sure yet which one is better." She let the menu sink and finally really looked at him, making it seem like she had only just really noticed him fully, "I'm very sorry, Ollie, I only have 30 minutes. I need to get back to work and save this people's home."

He tried another smile, "Of course. I understand."

They chose their dishes in silence, and when the waiter served their non-alcoholic drinks they quickly ordered. When they were finally alone again. Laurel took a sip of her soda and focussed on him completely, "I'm glad we finally managed to do this. With Tommy working for his father, we hardly see each other anymore."

Oliver nodded, "That's true." But since he really didn't want Tommy to be part of this conversation, of this non-date, he said, "It's been some time since we last talked. So, apart from work being stressful. How are you?" It was forced, he knew, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I'm good," she answered. "I'm a little confused what happened between you and Tommy, though. I haven't gotten a real answer out of Tommy why he suddenly went to work for his father."

And there they were, right back at the topic Oliver had tried to steer her away from. She really didn't seem to sense that he didn't want to talk about that. "He thought it was better for him," he answered vaguely. Seeing her doubtful face, he added, "Maybe, I didn't pay enough attention to the club as he would have liked."

Laurel studied Oliver intensely while she said, "I guess business and friendship don't mix."

He felt uneasy under her searching gaze, feeling like she was detecting all his lies and taking him apart with her eyes. But he kept his mask up, "I guess not."

She took another sip of her soda. "I don't blame you," she stated then. "It makes sense that taking care of business isn't on top of your list. You have many things to cope with. I'm sure it's not easy to adjust after being away for such a long time."

Now he reached for his glass and took a huge sip. He didn't know what to say to that. Because, really, that was another thing he didn't want to talk about. He had planned to keep this conversation light, but her mentioning Tommy, his disappearance and his way of dealing with the years away added immense weight and was dragging the mood, his mood, down. He swallowed heavily and finally said, "It's just good to be back. I have so much to catch up on." Desperate for a more up-beat topic, he added, "Like, it's hard to understand that Rihanna is still a thing. I believed we'd only have to deal with 'Umbrella' and then we would be done..."

Laurel tried a small smile, but it didn't really reach her eyes. "It's okay, I get it."

"Get what?"

"You don't have to act brave with me. I know the last months weren't easy for you."

Oliver could feel the tension inside him grow. "They weren't," he admitted, "but I don't want to dwell on that."

"Ollie," she used her soft, understanding voice now, "You need to talk about it. You can't just ignore what happened. Did you ever think about seeking professional help?"

"No."

"There," she sat up straighter. "You are annoyed. That's what I'm talking about. You need a healthy way to deal with that, a way to let your frustrations out."

He was pretty sure that she wouldn't approve of how he let his frustrations out. She most likely wouldn't approve them as healthy. "I train," was all he said.

She shook her head, her voice was still soft. "You focus on your body too much. You need to also take care of your mind. You had unpleasant experiences on the island, you need to deal with that or they'll break you."

He stared at her. He couldn't believe that she had just said that. _Unpleasant experiences?!_ He really didn't think this was an adequate choice of words. Actually, it was a stupid thing to say. It was a stupid thing to say by _her_, when she was one of the very, very few people who had really gotten a glimpse of what had happened on the island. She knew he had been tortured. She had sat next to him when her father had interrogated him about this, when the detective had mentioned that scars on his body. She had looked shaken, and somehow her compassion had soothed him. But in this situation, when he was just trying to spent a nice, easy meal with her, her try to analyze and patronize him caused anger to grow inside him. He was angry that she said that. He was angry that all he could think that this was an incredibly stupid thing to say. He was angry that he was annoyed by Laurel, the love of his life.

His voice sounded strained as he couldn't hide his anger, even though he really tried. "I'll manage." He had been really good at hiding his real emotions from Laurel in the last months, but right now he knew he failed at keeping up his routine of staying calm, collected and positive around her.

Laurel reached over the table and placed her hand over his clenched fist, "I'm always here to talk."

Not ten minutes earlier he had longed for a touch, he had longed for her to touch him, but now that it happened he couldn't stand it. Because it was a touch full of pity. Maybe that was all he could get, would get from her.

The waiter chose this moment to serve their meals and saved Oliver from having to react to her statement. He had just reached for his fork when Laurel's cell rang. "I'm sorry," she apologized as she answered the call.

Before she had even said the first word, Oliver knew she wouldn't finish her meal. Normally, it was him running out of meals and conversations, it was unfamiliar to be the one being left behind. But he really didn't mind it. He would rather finish his meal alone and in silence than continue this aggravating conversation. This was really not how he had imagined this date... meeting... to go. A strange mixture of sadness and anger collected inside him.

He forced a fake smile, when Laurel ended the call. "Ollie, I'm sor–"

He didn't let her finish, "It's okay. I understand." He made eye-contact with the waiter while lifting his hand, indicating that he wanted the check. He had decided to not finish his meal either, because he just wasn't hungry anymore.

Laurel's beautiful eyes met his, "I really mean what I said. I'm always here for you. I only want the best for you."

When Oliver watched her leave after an awkward good-bye he couldn't help but think that all she wanted was what _she_ believed to be best for him. She would never accept what he knew was the best thing he could do for himself. She would never accept that he was The Hood. He sighed, and the waiter returned with his credit-card. The tall man with the bold spot looked with uneasiness at Oliver and the untouched food, "Sir, I'm very sorry. If you weren't completely satisfied–"

Oliver stopped him right there. "Don't worry. The food was the smallest of our problems."


End file.
